The Blood Queen
by IceKalisto
Summary: Summary:  They think that this Mission is too low key for them. But it's harder than it looks.  A bit like writing a summary! . There are language issues and some adult imagery hence the rating.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: They think that this Mission is too low key for them. But it's harder than it looks. (A bit like writing a summary!). There are language issues and some adult imagery hence the rating.

Disclaimer: Just borrowing the characters...again

The Blood Queen

Prologue

The rain was coming down in icy sheets, bouncing off the rough cobbles and rattling on the roofs of the industrial units that lined the street. Weak streetlights cast dirty orange light onto the pavement, but it barely made an impact on the impenetrable darkness of the early hours of the morning; eventually the whole area would be redeveloped, but for now it was simply a relic of an early time, crumbling into decay.

A woman turned the corner, her high heels striking the cobbles, echoing in the darkness. She wore a long leather trench coat which she instinctively drew around her to keep out the chill. Her cropped blonde hair was plastered to her head, making her smoky eyes look bigger than ever. She'd been at the club until the early hours, and the chances of getting a cab had gone from unlikely to downright impossible. Bloody typical.

Suddenly, a figure stepped out from a side street, directly into her path, and she gasped clutching her coat tighter around her slim body. The man who stood in front of her was tall, but lanky, his long legs clad in tight, tight black jeans that left little to the imagination; the Ramones t-shirt he'd been wearing at the club earlier was hidden under a leather biker jacket, but his black hair still stood up in spikes despite the rain. He leaned on the wall, stopping her from passing.

The woman smiled, but it wasn't friendly. 'Want to play?'

Chapter 1

The antique shop looked as though it hadn't seen a customer in decades – the dust on the display cases was so thick you could write your name in it, and a musty smell hung in the air like smog. As Jim Phelps walked through the door, a bell rang somewhere in the back of the shop, and a rather rat faced man, in a suit that was as old as he was, appeared in front of him.

'I understand that you have an interest in medals from World War 1. I have a particularly fine set of campaign medals including the 1914-15 Star, the Victory Medal and the Campaign Medal.'

'In fact, I'm more interested in the North Africa Campaign, which is largely overlooked in favour of the war in the trenches.' Jim responded, feeling the familiar frisson of adrenaline run through him as he wondered exactly what was waiting for him.

'I have an interesting collection of memorabilia in the rear showroom, if you would like to go through.' He did as he was bid, and saw the familiar black box nestling amongst the junk. As he had done hundreds of times before, he slipped in the disc and sat back to listen.

'Good morning Jim. Approximately three weeks ago a young man named Marcus Pearson disappeared whilst at University in London.' The screen showed what was obviously home movie footage of tall, slim young man, in his early twenties, with spikey black hair, playing a guitar and laughing into the camera. 'Marcus' disappearance has been reported to the police, but in their eyes he is an adult, and they have limited scope to investigate until a body is found. This is not a helpful conclusion. Jim, you may be wondering why your IMF team has been asked to intervene in a simple missing person's case? Eighteen years ago, when Marcus was a small child, his father Robert, an IMF agent working out of London was killed in a helicopter crash whilst on a mission. Marcus was brought up by his mother Lydia.' The screen showed a picture of a slight blonde woman, probably in her late forties. Despite himself, Jim was struck by the contrast between her fragile prettiness and the strength that shone from her blue eyes. 'The Secretary has maintained an interest in the family since Pearson's death, and has asked for your involvement as a personal favour. Your mission, should you chose to accept it, is to travel to London and bring this young man home. As always, should you or any of your I.M. Force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This recording will self destruct in five seconds. Good luck Jim'. The machine crackled, and smoke crept from around the edges, but Jim Phelps had already gone.

Shannon leaned over the balcony gazing at the dirty waters of the Thames that flowed below. A myriad of sighseeing boats plying the tourist trade wended their way between the fantastical bastion of Tower Bridge, down to the more refined Georgian splendour of Greenwich. Opposite, the Norman keep of the Tower of London shone in the pale light of the winter sun, and, if she leant out a bit further she could just make out the gothic splendour of the Houses of Parliament. The apartment, in a newly converted warehouse was spacious, and, thanks to the economic climate, extremely private as only a handful of the others had been sold.

'This place is wonderful. I just wish we were here under different circumstances.'

'We have it for the week, which should be enough.' Jim replied. Shannon didn't ask what for. They had a week to either find Marcus alive, or locate his body. They all hoped it would be the former.

Grant crashed through the door, his usual box of electronic tricks in his arms, followed by Nicholas and Max, both of whom were carrying what appeared to be the remnants of an explosion in a computer factory. They dumped the boxes of on the floor with a grimace.

'Are you sure you've got enough stuff here, buddy?' Max ribbed as he threw himself down on the sofa. Grant gave his team mate a broad grin.

'You never know what you're going to need. It's best to be prepared.'

'Go join the Boy Scouts.'

'So,' Nicholas turned to Jim, 'Are we really here on a missing person's case?'

'Yeah, why aren't the local cops handling it?' Max chipped in. 'Not that I mind being in London, but it's not our normal bag.'

'I have to agree Jim,' Grant added, 'It does seem more of a local issue. Not that a missing kid isn't important, but there doesn't seem to be a wider significance to this.'

'No, that's true.' Jim admitted, his face grave. 'But Marcus Pearson is not a usual missing person. His father Robert was an IMF agent killed in the line of duty. Marcus is in his final year of University, reading history, and was by all accounts an exemplary student, until a little over three weeks ago, when he failed to turn up for class. He has not returned to his lodging, contacted his family or been in touch with friends since then.'

'He's one of ours?' Jim nodded in response to Grant's question. 'Then I understand why we're here.'

'Could he have just dropped out?' Nicholas asked, 'maybe he was finding his final year stressful and has just gone off to clear his head. Happens to students a lot.'

'Particularly if they take one of your acting classes' Max joked. Nicholas gave him a mock glare, and Shannon rolled her eyes. Sometimes it was like working in a kindergarten.

'He's probably riding a surfboard somewhere.'

'The Secretary doesn't think so. Marcus is very close to his mother, and is highly unlikely to wish to inflict the stress of his disappearance on her. No, I fully believe that something untoward has happened to the young man.'

Nicholas and Max exchanged a glance. Unusual or not, a mission was a mission, and if one of their own was at risk, then they would both give it everything they had.

'Shannon, I want you to come with me to talk to Lydia Pearson. She may feel more comfortable with another woman around. Nicholas, Max, I want you to check out Marcus's student accommodation and talk to his tutors. Grant?'

'I know, you want a full electronic background, financials and medical and police records.'

'Any skeletons in the cupboard I want to know about them before they leap out and hit us. Let's get to it.'

He tried to open his eyes, but the dried blood had all but crusted them shut. His hands were manacled above his head, and the rough stone of the walls dug into his back. He'd lost track of how long he'd been here, confined in the damp darkness, but the whole of his body hurt, the cut wounds on his chest like individual wasp stings, burning with every breath. The sound of the door opening galvanised him, and he strained against the chains, but they held fast.

He heard her walk across the floor, the familiar sound of her boots echoing in the confined space, and the cloying sweetness of her perfume almost overwhelming. Part of him wished he could just die, so the pain would be over, but he didn't want to give her even an ounce of satisfaction. If staying alive was the only victory he could have, then he would take it.

He felt her breath on his cheek, and flinched away.

'Oh good, you're awake again. I thought I'd broken you this time.' He felt something cold and metallic against his ribs and began to shake uncontrollably.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jim drove the hired Vauxhall through the leafy suburbs of Oxford. It had been a number of years since he had spent any meaningful length of time in the city, and he knew that even now it would be no more than a fleeting visit in a life full of fleeting visits, never stopping, always moving on. He sometimes wondered if he should give retirement another try, but, he knew himself well enough to realise that he would be bored within a week.

'You're being very quiet,' Shannon's voice interrupted his thoughts, 'is everything ok?'

'I'm fine.' She didn't look convinced. He pulled up outside an average looking 1930's semi, with a neat garden and a three year old Volkswagen Golf in the drive. 'Anyway, we're here.'

'So who does Lydia Pearson think that we are? All she knows is that her husband was killed in a helicopter crash whilst working for an oil company.' Jim sighed.

'When we join the IMF, we know that or loved ones will never be privy to the work that we do, that we have to live a double life. It's unfair to them, but to know would also put them in terrible danger. So, we make a choice, to live a lie, or to live alone.'

'And all of us have chosen to live alone.' She said softly.

'Tom Copperfield didn't. He had a wife and child. Now, she's a widow, and his son is without a father. It's too high a price to pay.' Shannon touched his hand briefly, and he smiled. 'We can't bring Robert Pearson back to his wife, but let's hope we can find her son.'

They rang the door bell, and the door was opened almost immediately by the woman Jim recognised from the disc. If anything, she seemed smaller and more fragile now, her jeans and green jumper hanging off her small frame, her hair dull and unwashed. When she saw them, her face fell.

'I'm sorry, I thought you might be someone else.'

'Mrs Pearson? My name is Professor Leonard Gibbs, from University College. This is my assistant Valerie. May we come in?' She nodded, and led them through to a sitting room at the rear of the house, overlooking a tidy, well maintained garden. As she sunk unto her chair, her fingers began to pick absently at the front of her sweater. When she realised what she was doing she stopped and gave a small, wry smile.

'I never understood why people smoked, but now I think I do. How can I help you professor? Please tell me you have some news about Marcus?'

'I'm afraid not Mrs Pearson.'

'Lydia, please. '

'Lydia then. We're simply here to see if we can help, a pastoral duty if you will. Tell me about Marcus. I understand he was in his third year?' She nodded.

'Yes, he was loving it, looking forward to completing his degree and then moving on to getting teaching qualifications.'

'How did he find living away from home?' Shannon asked.

'He was homesick at first, but he after a while he loved London, took to it like a duck to water. I wanted him to go away to college, to spread his wings a little, and he did.'

'What about girlfriends or boyfriends?'

'No-one serious. He brought a girl home last Christmas, but I think it fizzled out.' Jim caught Shannon's eye.

'Lydia, would you mind if I looked in Marcus's room? She asked, 'I promise I won't take anything.'

'Anything that will help find him.'

Marcus's room looked out over the road, and, as soon as Shannon walked in, she realised that they would find nothing there to help them. There were a few childhood books in the bookcase, the Hardy Boys, Willard Price's Adventure series, and even a few Biggles books that may very well have been his father's. A couple of dog eared Star Wars posters hung on the wall, and a moth eaten teddy bear, one ear missing sat on the bed, but there was no essence of the young man that had lived there. If Marcus had left his mark, it was at his digs in London, not in his childhood home. She sat on the bed, looking round, just to give Jim time to talk to Marcus's mum alone

After Shannon had gone upstairs, Lydia Pearson turned to Jim, her eyes shrewd. 'Professor Gibbs, if that's who you really are, please don't think I'm stupid. I know that Robert didn't work for an oil company, I think I always knew. The generous pension I get each month isn't just because he made some good investments.'

'Then you know that I can't comment on that.' She nodded.

'I know. I've spent my life not asking too many questions. I'm very thankful for your continued interest in us, but I need you to understand one thing – I'm relying on you to find my son. My husband died serving the greater good, and I'm proud of him every day, as he would have been proud of Marcus. But I can't lose him too. Please bring him home.'

'Well the University was a bust.' Grumbled Max, as he and Nicholas hailed a cab to take them to Marcus's student digs. Traffic was appalling as befitted one of the busiest cities in the world, and Nicholas grinned to himself as he saw his friend begin to tap his foot impatiently. Patience was not Max's strong point.

'I disagree. We've found out that Marcus was a good student, popular with his peers, got his assignments in on time, played in a band and spent too much of his grant money on beer and cigarettes. In short, he's unlikely to have run away.'

'Let's face it though mate, we really knew that anyway. The Secretary wouldn't have dragged us half way across the world if he thought for one minute Marcus had gone off of his own accord.' They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. After a while, Max said: 'Do you ever think about it? The whole family thing?'

'I'd be lying if I said it had never crossed my mind.' Nicholas admitted. 'But I couldn't lie to someone I loved like that...What about you?' For a moment he thought Max was going to take the question seriously, but in the end he just gave his normal Cheshire Cat grin.

'No way, I like playing the field too much!'

'Yeah, right.'

The cab drew up outside a Victorian terrace house, its peeling paintwork identical to all the others in the row. A couple of bikes were chained up in the tiny forecourt, and a jolly roger hung in the downstairs bay window. The front door was unlocked, and as they walked in they were hit with a smell that seemed to be a mixture of fried food, sweat and pot smoke. ' Definitely student digs.' Nicholas rolled his eyes.

Marcus's room was on the first floor, and it took Max less than a minute to pick the lock. To say that it was a typical student flat was an understatement - there were unwashed dishes in the sink, some of which seemed to be producing previously unknown lifeforms, clothes strewn all over the floor, the bed unmade and books as far as the eye could see. Nicholas reached for the book on the nightstand, a dog eared copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula that Marcus had started to annotate.

'Good taste in reading matter.' He scanned the bookshelves, seeing more Stoker, Polidori's Vampyr, a couple of Anne Rice novels, and various books in screenwriting. Maybe Marcus had other dreams than just being a teacher. The walls were plastered in posters, from Max Shrek's Nosferatu, through The Lost Boys to Tim Burton's Batman. His taste in bands was represented too, with the Damned vying for space with Bauhaus and The Cult. In the corner, an old electric guitar had pride of place.

'He's in to some pretty weird shit.' Max snorted, picking up a Siouxsie and the Banshees cassette from the floor before he stood on it.

'He's a Goth Max, not a weirdo.'

'Same difference buddy. All this vampire crap really isn't my sort of thing.'

'I never would have guessed.' Nicholas smiled to himself, putting the book back where he found it. A red ring binder contained reams of closely handwritten notes lay on the floor next to the bed. 'Looks like his thesis is on the 'tradition of the vampire in literature.' Seems to be going well.' Max was searching under the bed, and suddenly laughed, pulling out a stash of porn mags and a box of condoms.

'Bet his mother never found these!' Carrying on looking through Marcus's papers, Nicholas expected Max to make another sarcastic comment, but when he turned, his friend looked serious. 'I guess he never expected a couple of strangers to be going through his stuff.'

'You can apologise to him when we get him back.' Opening a black covered exercise book, he continued. 'I think I've found something.' Marcus had been using the notebook as a diary, not for his thoughts and feelings, but to note down lectures, nights out, gigs with the band. Flicking back a few months, Nicholas noticed that the initials BC began to appear, infrequently to start with, but after a while with increasing regularity. 'What do you reckon, new girlfriend?'

'I don't think so.' Max held up a flyer, showing a black rose, dripping with scarlet blood. 'All it says is the Bathory Club, and gives a phone number.'

'Then let's ask Grant what he can find out about this Bathory Club.'

'So, Grant,' asked Jim sometime later when they all convened back at the apartment, 'what did you find out about Marcus? Anything untoward?'

'Nope, if anything, it seems pretty straightforward. He's got two bank accounts, one current that his student grant is paid into, along with an allowance from his mother, and a savings account which shows a balance of £850. His most regular outgoings are his rent, the convenience store on the corner and Waterstones booksellers. Neither of the accounts has been touched since he went missing.'

'What about medical records, or problems with the police?'

'None and none. Last time he visited the Doctor it was for antibiotics for a throat infection, and as far as I can find out he's never visited a police station, even on a school trip. He's a good kid.'

'Nicholas, Max? Please tell me that you've something of interest to report.'

'Actually, we have.' Nicholas outlined their discoveries (or lack of them) at the university, and the flat before Max handed over the flyer for the Bathory Club.

'Come on then Sherlock, what can you tell me about this?' Grant grinned, his finger already tapping away at the computer keys.

'Give me a couple of minutes and you'll have chapter and verse.' Max snorted, but Grant didn't rise to the bait. 'Here we go...Right, it looks as though the club is named after Elizabeth Bathory, a Hungarian countess born in 1560. Allegedly one of the most prolific female serial killers in history, although she was never actually convicted of a crime, she was implicated in the death of at least 80 women. In 1610 she was bricked up in a set of rooms in Csejte Catle, which is now in Czechoslovakia where she remained for four years until her death. Elizabeth Bathory was nicknamed the Blood Queen, and many believed her to be a vampire.'

'It would certainly fit with Marcus's love of all things Gothic.'

'What about the actual club though?' asked Shannon, 'Do you have any information about that?'

'I have information about almost anything.' He prodded a couple of keys impatiently, 'It just has to think about things sometimes. Ok, The Bathory Club is quite unusual, on the one hand it's a gothic themed nightclub, and on the other a private members club, where, although men can be invited as guests, the only people allowed to be official members are women.'

'I'm liking it already,' Shannon grinned, sipping her coffee, and reading over Grant's shoulder. 'It's owned by a woman called Katherine Russell, who made a great deal of money in the city.' The screen showed a slightly built woman, probably in her sixties, with iron grey hair in a pixie cut. She was wearing a black suit that gave her the air of dressing up in her mother's clothes. ' It also has a gimmick, the Bathory Club will open in a part of the city that is due for redevelopment, where it will develop cult status for a while, only to close down and re-open elsewhere. So far, clubs have taken place in Glasgow, Manchester, Bristol and Plymouth. The London club is based in an old Victorian public house, the Railway Arms in Limehouse'

'Wait a minute,' Grant rifled through the paperwork he had previously printed off. 'That sounds familiar...Yeah, there we go, the last withdrawal from Marcus's bank account was at 11pm on the Friday night before he disappeared from an ATM in Limehouse.'


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

'That's not all,' Grant added. 'I've been digging deeper, and have found evidence that in all the cities where the Bathory Club has been based, there's been a small but significant rise in the number of missing people in the area, mainly men. I doubt if it's enough to alert law enforcement ,but when you look for it, it's obvious.'

'Alright then,' Jim gathered his thoughts. 'Tomorrow I intend to talk to Katherine Russell about the Bathory Club. Grant, Max you need to get into the club, I want to see whatever CCTV footage they have, and also get our own cameras installed. Nicholas, Shannon, stay in base, I have a feeling you'll both be needed later on.'

The low winter sunshine of the day before had given way to thick grey fog that seemed the blanket the entire city, shrouding it in a chilling dampness the seemed to seep into every nook and cranny. Max shuddered and drew the collar of his reflective jacket around his neck. 'I guess that this is what they call a pea souper.'

'Hey man, at least you get to wear the uniform. This suit isn't exactly warm.' Grant, undercover as a representative of the insurance company was wearing a well cut charcoal grey suit and carrying his usual box of tricks disguised as a briefcase – so far so executive, but Max, dressed in the navy uniform of the London fire brigade, complete with waterproof jacket was not only warmer, but getting more than his fair share of admiring glances from (female) passers by. As they walked further into the more derelict areas of Limehouse, those that had been earmarked for redevelopment and were simply waiting for the wrecking balls to start the fog seemed to draw around them in thicker waves, and they almost walked past the Bathory Club before they spotted it.

From the outside the club looked like a typical Victorian public house, complete with glazed tiles and ornate stained glass in the windows. The main entrance doors were on the corner, and it looked as though the adjoining buildings were residential, until Grant noticed that the same ornamental lamps adorned both the pub and what appeared to be houses next door.

'So the club's taken over the whole block?'

'Seems that way,' Max gestured to the rest of the street, deserted and isolated in the fog. 'This is just weird Grant, it's like taking a step back in time.'

'All adds to the atmosphere. Imagine what it's like here at night.'

'Yeah, well I'm hoping imagining is all I'll have to do. Still, let's get on with this.' He banged on the door, and, after a few minutes they heard footsteps. 'Ok, someone's in, looks like it's definitely plan A.' The woman who opened the door was n her early thirties, slim, with long auburn hair scraped back into a pony tail. Even in jeans and a sweater her curves were more than apparent. Grant laughed inwardly as he saw a flash of interest in her green eyes when she saw Max in his uniform.

'Hi, how can I help?' she smiled.

'Here on a fire inspection,' Max flashed his forged ID quickly, 'I'm Mark Barry and this is Doug Jordan from the insurance company.'

'Oh, right...' she looked perplexed. 'I'm sure this was all done when we moved in.'

'Just a spot check. I guess it's your lucky day.'

'You must be right.' She smiled again. 'You better come in. To be honest, you're lucky to catch anyone around. I'm only here because we're closed Wednesdays, and it gives me a chance to catch up on some paperwork.'

'You're the owner?' Grant asked, even though he knew she wasn't.

'I wish! I'm Alice Rankin, the membership secretary. Katherine's the owner, but she leaves the day to day running of the place to her daughter Erin. She's normally about, but at the moment she's off looking for the next premises.' She took a breath and Max interjected:

'We really need to come in.'

'Oh yes, of course, sorry. I'm talking far too much.' She flustered. 'Please excuse me, the bloody computer is messing me around and I haven't got the vaguest idea what to do with it.' She led them into the main bar area, and Max let out a low whistle – at first glance it looked as it should, a Victorian pub, with tripped wooden floors, individual booths with red velvet covered bench seats and brass rails, along with freestanding wrought iron tables, and a few stools by the bar. A closer look however and you could see the carved wooden gargoyles on the end of each booth, the wrought candelabra in each corner, and, whilst three walls were painted to resemble a stone wall, the fourth had a huge mural of a ruined Abbey standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, it's dark drama drawing in even an Aussie who didn't do 'vampire shit.'.

'That's pretty amazing.'

'Thank you, it took me a while to do.'

'You painted it?' She nodded, turning away to hide her blushes.

'It's probably the best thing I've done. Anyway, I'm sure you're not here to talk about my art work. How can I help you?

'If you wouldn't mind walking me round the place,' Max flashed her his best smile, 'I need to check the fire exits and extinguishers. Doug here needs to look at the paperwork and the smoke alarms.'

'Paperwork? Right, ok. Best thing is if you follow me upstairs to the office, you can look through it whilst I take you round.' Doing exactly as they were told, they followed her up the stairs that led from the back of the bar to the first floor. Grant noticed as he did so that both the bar and the staircase were covered by CCTV cameras. She showed him into a small, windowless office on the first floor, into which was crammed a large mahogany desk, several filing cabinets, a monitor for the CCTV, a computer and a mountain of paper that threatened to spill off the desk top and onto the floor. He was surprised to see that there were no visible cameras . Alice saw Grant looking and grinned ruefully. 'Tidiness isn't really my strong point.'

'Don't worry about it.' She grabbed a file from the nearest cabinet. 'All the documents you need should be in here. Mark if you'd like to follow me?'

As soon as Max led her from the room Grant sprang into action. First, he checked the CCTV monitor, pleased to find that it was nothing more hi-tec than a standard record and recycle package,. Old tapes, labelled with the relevant dates were stored in the cabinet beneath the machine kept for what looked to be a month and then re-used. It took him no time at all to remove the tapes for the weekend of Marcus's disappearance, along with a day each side, using a solvent spray he's devised he detached the labels, and reattached them to the blank cassettes before slipping them back into the cupboard.

Browsing through the system he pulled up current images from five camera's – the two he had already seen plus one in the main club area downstairs, and the private members lounge on the first floor, where tables were set out in front of a stage area. The final camera covered the front entrance, and he remonstrated silently with himself for not noticing it when they arrived.

Checking that Max and Alice were out of the way, he slipped quickly down to the bar area, and slipped a small magnetic relay onto the side of the camera. Only the faintest bleep told him it was working. He repeated the process on the other interior cameras, hoping that Max was doing enough flirting with Alice to keep her occupied. He'd thought the system would be more advanced, and felt vaguely disappointed that it hadn't stretched him at all. When he got back to the office he checked the feed, and pulled out his two-way.

'Nicholas?'

'Ready Grant.' Back in the apartment Nicholas watched as the images from the CCTV cameras appeared in split screen in front of him. 'We have the technology. Reading you loud and clear.'

'All four interior cameras?'

'Yeah, a bit grainy though.'

'Not surprised. This system must be pretty close to drawing its pension .Strangely enough that sometimes makes it harder to infiltrate – it's just too basic.'

'Don't complain when things are easy, Grant. Enjoy it whilst it lasts!'

Signing off, Grant moved on to the next part of the plan – but before he could do more than look at the computer he heard footsteps on the landing outside.

'Ok, we just need to check the members area,' Max said, a trifle louder than was strictly necessary, so as to alert Grant as to what was happening, 'then you can go back to your paperwork.'

'Can't wait,' Alice muttered sarcastically, leading him through a lobby area into a large room in which tables were set out in front of a stage area. Burgundy red velvet curtains hung at the large picture windows, and delicate crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

'Wow,' Max was genuinely surprised, 'you don't expect this. From the outside, it just looks like a regular club.'

'That's the point. Nothing is quite as it seems.'

'So what goes on up here?'

'All sorts of stuff, and probably not what you're thinking.' She gave him a knowing look. Max tried to look innocent, and failed miserably. 'There's a supper club most nights, and we usually have a string quartet or a jazz band; other nights we have a show, last night it was burlesque, and tomorrow it's a new magic act that apparently is pretty incredible.'

'Sounds fun. Now, show me your fire exits.'

'You ask the nicest things.'

Keeping a careful eye on Max and Alice on the CCTV, Grant fired up the computer, smiling to himself when he realised that he was going to be doing Alice a favour by fixing her technical problems, as well as giving the team an entry into the system. Moving quickly he took a floppy disc from his case and fed it into the machine. A few clicks on the keyboard later it was loading, but not as quickly as he'd hoped. So much for his comments about an easy system – she should have taken Nicholas's advice and kept his mouth shut. He watched as Max opened the upstairs fire exit – three minutes to download – fiddled around with the fire extinguisher – two minutes – and then began to walk back towards the office – one minute...

Alice opened the door, with Max behind her hoping that he'd given Grant enough time to do what he'd had to do. Max breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Grant sitting at the desk flicking through the file of insurance documents.

'Thanks. No problems as I can see.' He handed the folder back to Alice with a smile. 'You've been a great help.'

'No problem. Look, feel free to come back one night as my guests. Bring friends...'

'Maybe we will.' Max gave her his sweetest smile and behind her back Grant rolled his eyes at his friend. 'Oh, by the way,' he added as they were just about to leave. 'My cousin Marcus Pearson comes here sometimes. Do you know him?' Alice shook her head, but not before he saw a look of fear pass over her face. They were on the right track.

'I must say Ms Russell,' Jim Phelps eased back in his seat, 'You really have a unique business plan. The readers of Entrepreneur Magazine are going to be fascinated.' Opposite him, Katherine Russell gave him a cynical half smile.

'I really doubt that, Mr Durden. It really isn't that unusual. Please call me Katherine by the way. I'm sixty two years old and being called Russell still makes me think of my mother in law.' Despite seeing her picture on the screen, Jim had been surprised at how charismatic he found Katherine Russell in the flesh. She was a tiny woman, built like a bird, who barely came up to his shoulders, but she had a deep, gravelly voice that put him in mind of another Katherine Hepburn, which could never be a bad thing as far as he was concerned. She wore a stylised version of a salwar kameeze in black silk, with embroidery on the collar, which contrasted dramatically with her grey hair and the myriad of silver jewellery she wore – jangling bangles up both arms, several necklaces, and, he noticed, her ears pierced three times. Her blue eyes were shrewd and calculating, and he knew that he had to watch his step with her.

'So, isn't it strange to put so much effort into a club that is only going to be in operation for a few months at most?'

'Not at all. Due to the situation, the premises are cheap but need only minimal work to make them useable . My staff are very talented, and work on the decor themselves. The clubs have earned a cult reputation very quickly, which means a great deal of advanced publicity and they are gone before they become yesterdays news.'

'Why the Bathory Club?'

'Mr Durden, I know you've done your research, so you know all about the legend of Elizabeth Bathory.'

'A serial killer.'

'No.' She responded firmly. 'A woman who was aware of her own sexual needs and desires, and who fell foul of the male dominated society in which she lived. As you well know, she was convicted of no crime.'

'Which brings me to my next question, why women only?'

'Not women only, women foremost. Men are allowed into the club, but only of signed in by a woman, and are unable to become full members. You would not be turning a hair if it were a men only environment Mr Durden.'

'You have me there, Katherine. It just seems unusual.'

'Maybe it's society that's unusual.' She countered. 'It's the 1990's and it still can't cope with women who know their own minds.'

'And why the gothic theme?'

'Pure fantasy. It's a sensual image, one that the women like as it gives them a chance to dress up and be something different from what society demands. As a business woman, it also gives us a unique selling point, and plenty of clientele from the wider goth community who simply come to listen to the music. I call it a win win situation.'

'So what next?'

'They wish to start demolition within the next three months, which is what I hoped. My daughter Erin is away at the moment investigating a number of possible sites that could be of interest.'

'So the Bathory Cub will continue?'

'Oh yes Mr Durden, I rather think it will.'


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

By the time Jim returned to the apartment Grant had fired up the laptop and the others were clustered around him watching the surveillance tapes

'What do we have, Grant?'

'There's no doubt that Marcus visited the club before he disappeared. I've tried to clear up the image as much as possible, but the quality is still dire. Watch...'

Marcus walked into the Club which was already heaving despite the fact that, by the time clock it was little after 9pm. He fought his way through the crowd, exchanging the odd word with people that he obviously knew, and took a seat at the bar. There was no sound on the tape, but the rapport between him and the young woman behind was obvious, and they joked for a while before she passed him a pint of beer and moved on to the next customer. He lit up a cigarette, and sat watching the crowd.

'That's all he does for a while. So I'll forward it.' After a brief pantomime of speeded up movements, he slowed it down to a normal pace again. 'This is where it gets interesting again.'

When the blonde woman walked into shot Grant, Max and Nicholas couldn't help give a small sigh of appreciation. It wasn't just the short (very short) leather dress she wore, or the patent spike shoes with their four inch heels, it was something about her – every step just oozed confidence, a 'don't fuck with me' attitude that was compelling. 'Mind back on the job boys,' Shannon joked. Jim let them have their moment of fun, knowing they wouldn't be distracted for long.

She walked up to Marcus, and as she did so, she ran an elegantly painted fingernail across his cheek. He made an almost indiscernible movement away from her, but it was enough for her to notice and a fleeting look of anger passed across her face. As she turned to the bar worker her body language was aggressive, and a drink, probably vodka by the look of it, was put in front of her quickly.

'So, they're both regulars, and obviously have some history.' Nicholas surmised. 'She doesn't like not getting her way.'

'Like most women.' Max gave Shannon a look, so she kicked him. 'Ow!'

Once she had her drink she slipped onto the stool next to him, making very sure that he saw as much of her thigh as possible. For a while it seemed to work, and they began an animated conversation, peppered with hand gestures and regular drink refills. It became clear after a while though that things were once again deteriorating. Eventually they both stood up, Marcus said something to her, and she drew her hand back, slapping him hard across the face before stalking off. Fingering his cheek, Marcus finished the remainder of his drink before making his way to the exit. Switching to the exterior camera they watched as he walked off into the rain drenched night.

'What about the woman?'

'She goes upstairs into the members' area. As far as I can see, that's where she stays. No-one follows him, he just simply vanishes.'

'No-one disappears without a trace,' Nicholas stated firmly. 'Someone in that club knows something.'

'I think we need to find the blonde.' Max agreed, all sense of frivolity gone.

'I believe I know who she is,' Jim leant over and tapped on the keyboard. After a moment a photograph of Katherine Russell and her daughter Erin appeared on the screen. 'Erin Russell, daughter of Katherine Russell. According to Katherine she's currently out of town. The Bathory Club is preparing to move on again.'

'Then we need to get into the club as soon as possible.' Agreed Grant. 'Didn't you mention a magic act Max? You could always resurrect the Great Sandu.'

'No,' Max responded softly, 'I'd need a new assistant.' Seeing the flash of pain in his eyes, Nicholas touched him lightly on the arm. Shannon knew that for a moment they were all remembering Casey.

'Shannon, you know that you're the only one who can infiltrate the club?' Shannon nodded, pleased to have the chance to step into the centre of the action. It didn't happen often enough for her taste. 'Grant, did you lay the groundwork?'

'Oh yeah,' he hit a few keys, 'I uploaded a programme not unlike a virus to the computer system in the club. It will allow me to make changes to the stored data. The unit is a standalone dealing with membership information and billing and I've already created an identity for you.' He swung the monitor round towards her. 'Meet Carla Taylor who works for the Bank of Canada. You previously worked in Glasgow where you applied to join the club there, but before your membership was completed you had to return home to Canada. You've now been seconded to the London branch and want to join again.'

'Great, but I don't think I'm Erin's type. I can get into the club, but someone else will need to draw her out.'

'I thought of that.' Grant's expression became serious. 'I managed to dig around and find more information about the guys that disappeared. Over the three years that the clubs have been in operation over twenty men have vanished from the various cities involved. Now, I've weeded out a those that aren't relevant, but it may be helpful to see this...' He showed them the screen and Shannon drew a sharp breath. The men in the photos were a mixed group in the terms of age, but all had two things in common, all were dark haired and dark eyed.

'Guess this one is mine then.' Nicholas grinned.

The following day, Grant was busy putting the finishing touches to a small electronic transmitter, which he then attached to the back of a delicately carved black crystal rose. That, in turn was fastened to a black velvet ribbon.

'Looks good,' Max grinned. 'I...wow.' Shannon walked into the room wearing a short, form fitting black velvet dress, sheer stockings and black patent stilettos. Her makeup was a little more dramatic than usual, eyes lined with dark kohl and framed by purple shadow, her lipstick deep and sensual. Max just sat there doing an impression of a goldfish, until Nicholas nudged him with his elbow.

'Shannon, you look amazing.' Nicholas smiled.

'My ego thanks you,' she laughed, 'you don't look bad yourself!' Nicholas was ready for his part in the mission, pristine dinner suit, but with the bow tie undone which gave him a dishevelled but charming look.

'Maybe you'd like to add this to your outfit.' Grant stepped behind her, placing the velvet choker around her neck. 'The rose conceals a small transmitter that will pick up conversation to a maximum of about four feet. We'll also have eyes on you both all the time, through the CCTV. And there's this...' he handed her a powder compact with a delicately enamelled lid.

'More presents? It's just like Christmas.' She clicked the compact open, surprised to see just the standard powder and mirror.

'Click again.' The powder holder clicked up, and underneath was a small set of lockpicks, and a tiny electronic device she hadn't seen before. 'Your get out of jail free kit. The lock picks are self explanatory, and the disruptor will block camera feeds for about 20 minutes.'

'Don't I get anything?' Nicholas pretended to sulk.

'Oh yeah, remember these?' Grant handed Nicholas a pair of spectacles. 'Put them on, and they will transmit for four hours. I can also talk to you using the liquid crystal display on the lenses.

'Great. I just hope we're successful. Marcus has been missing for too long.'

'In that, I agree with you,' Jim added, 'but I don't want your natural concern for him to lead you to take unnecessary risk. We know from viewing the CCTV link that Erin Russell holds many of the answers that we are looking for. I can't shake the feeling though that she is a very dangerous young woman. Be careful, both of you.'

At 9pm the Bathory Club had barely got going. There were a few patrons in the bar area, but, as far as Shannon could see no-one had gone up to the members club, and the magic act wasn't due on until 11pm. She knew that most clubs were late starting, but this one was positively nocturnal. She sat alone at a table, sipping a glass of red wine, hoping that the evening would at least lead them one step forward.

'Hi!' A bright breezy voice made her jump slightly. She looked up and saw a tall slim woman, with a riot of auburn curls, wearing a fishtail skirt in dark green satin, and a laced up bodice top. 'I'm Alice Rankin, the membership secretary. I love your necklace. Have you been here before?'

'Not to this one, no. When I worked in Glasgow I used to go along regularly, even applied for membership. I'm Carla by the way, Carla Taylor.'

'You didn't complete your membership?'

'No, I got relocated back to head office in Vancouver. I'm so glad I found you again though, I really need somewhere like this to unwind after a day at work.'

'What do you do?'

'Oh nothing interesting. I'm an investment manager with the Bank of Canada. Only woman in a department of men – drives me to distraction!'

'I tell you what, would you like me to check to see if your details are still on the computer? If they are, I can set it up for you tonight, you can then go up and maybe have a meal and watch the act?'

'That would be fantastic.' Shannon gave Alice her best smile, and Alice disappeared upstairs to the office.

On the CCTV feed Max and Grant watched her go. 'Now to see if the programme works.'

'I've got total faith in you, buddy.'

The club was filling up, and Shannon began to feel distinctly under dressed. The outfits worn by some of the other women were amazingly dramatic, with corseted tops and sweeping skirts, set off with Victorian style boots and elaborate jewellery. Not that the guys were slackers in the style department either, from those who wore high gothic gear, through the black jeans brigade to those who preferred the more old fashioned but stylish approach of a dinner suit. She caught the barman's eye and he filled up her glass, surreptitiously checking her watch, she realised that Alice had been away for longer than she'd thought, and, as Erin hadn't yet made an appearance, the evening wasn't quite going according to schedule.

There was a small kerfuffle by the main entrance, as a darkly attractive man in his early forties, who was obviously already slightly the worse for drink, came into the bar. His dinner jacket was classically cut, but his white shirt was slightly grubby and his bow tie undone, giving him a dishevelled look that did nothing to disguise his obvious charm.

'Hey Carla,' He called from across the room. 'I said I'd find you didn't I?' Feigning embarrassment she looked down at her glass, as if trying to hide in the claret coloured depths.

'Go away Daniel, you're drunk.' She hissed.

'I assure you I'm not.' He stumbled slightly as he wove his way between the other patrons. 'Well, perhaps I'm not entirely sober either. Let me get you a drink.'

'I've got a drink. Why are you here?'

'Come off it darling, you've been playing hard to get since you joined the department. You don't fool me.'

'Daniel,' there was a degree of desperation in her voice, 'you've entirely got the wrong end of the stick. I'm not interested.' He loomed over her, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

'Don't come the high and mighty with me...'

'Is this gentleman bothering you?' Alice's voice was like ice. Shannon smiled at her gratefully.

'I'm sorry. Daniel works with me. He's a little...'

'I don't need anyone to apologise for me sweetheart.'

'I doubt that.' A few degrees colder than the North Pole. 'Carla, I've confirmed your membership, so if you'd like to come with me, I'll show you up to the supper club.'

'That's wonderful. Thank you so much.'

'What about me? I only wanted someone to have a drink with.'

'You can drink with me.' Shannon wondered how she'd missed Erin Russell's entrance, when it was clear that she wanted to make an immediate impression. Erin, like her mother, was small framed, but everything else about her screamed for attention, from the spiky blonde hair to the figure hugging leather trousers, thigh high boots and crop top which imposed a bare midriff with a six pack that Max would probably envy. The whole ensemble was set off by a flowing coat that skimmed the floor made of such soft leather that it must have cost a small fortune.

'Thank you. Enjoy your drink Daniel.' She followed Alice to the stairs, catching Nicholas's eye as she walked past, willing him to watch his step. Everything about Erin screamed predatory female, and Shannon felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

'How are things going?' Jim asked, looking over Grant's shoulder at the screen. He watched Shannon make her way to the members' area as Nicholas took a seat at the bar next to Erin Russell.

'So far, so according to plan.' As Grant watched Nicholas slipped on his glasses, so he tapped a couple of keys on the computer to activate the feed. 'Bingo. Now all we have to do is watch and wait.'

Nicholas sipped his whiskey, feeling the fiery liquid pass down his throat into his stomach. His heart was beating slightly faster than usual as he faced Erin Russell. He enjoyed the confrontation, the sensation of meeting the enemy on an equal footing, each moved carefully thought out as if it were a game of chess. Not being buried under layers of latex just added to the frisson of excitement. Glasses on, he studied her face, noticing for the first time how soulless her eyes appeared to be. He'd met Great White sharks that had more compassion.

'So,' she leaned forward, making sure he got a good view of her cleavage. 'You enjoy intimidating women?'

'Darlin, you have got it all wrong.' He leered at her. 'That bitch has been giving me the come on for weeks. I was just following through.'

'Well, it seemed quite plain to me that she didn't want it. I don't like that type of behaviour in my club.'

'Your club? Brains as well as beauty.' He put a hand on her leather clad thigh. 'Want me to advise you on a business plan. I'm quite the banker.'

'I'm sure you are Daniel.' She stood in front of him, seductively close, taking off his glasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket. He didn't see the small silver knife in her hands until he felt a sharp pain just below his ribs, and when he looked down, saw a small red stain stark against the white of his shirt. 'I've got another game I want to play.' She did the buttons of his jacket up. ' Now, walk ahead of me up the stairs.' Nicholas did as he was told. The game, as a certain master detective said, was afoot.

Shannon and Alice sat together on a table just inside the upstairs room. She had been trying to draw the other woman into conversation, but, since their encounter with Erin in the bar, Alice had been strangely quiet but with a nervous edginess that Shannon didn't quite understand.

'It looks as though you're going to have quite a crowd in tonight.'

'What? Oh, yes...Look Carla, I'm really sorry but I have to go and check something. I'll be back in a tick.' Alice hurried off in the direction of the office, and Shannon wondered what had got her so concerned. Getting to her feet, she made to follow her, but, when she reached the top of the stairs she saw Nicholas coming up with Erin, so she ducked behind the curtain, not wanting to jeopardise his part of the mission.

In the apartment, Grant cursed as the camera feed died, replaced by four screens of static. 'Damn it!'

'Don't worry, Nicholas still has his glasses and Shannon has the transmitter.' Max reassured him. 'They're covered.'

Nicholas walked through the door to the office, all the time aware of Erin and her knife at his back. He thought the room was empty, but a noise from behind the door made him half turn, so he was just about aware of the heavy candlestick as it crashed into the side of his skull. For a moment, the pain was intense, but then the world went black.

'A new one.' Alice and Erin exchanged a conspiratorial smile. 'I was getting bored with the last one anyway.' Erin cocked her head to one side, listening. She put her finger to her lips, and reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a hypodermic syringe. Taking up Alice's position behind the door, she motioned for the other woman to open it.

Shannon hadn't expected the door to open, and she almost stumbled inside. She was about to make a comment to Alice about missing the magic act when she felt a scratch on her arm as the needle was thrust into her flesh. She only had time to take a breath before she slumped to the floor, and as her consciousness ebbed away she was only vaguely aware of Alice saying: 'It really is such a nice necklace,' as she undid the clasp and slid the choker from her neck.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

'I don't believe this!' Grant frantically typed commands into the keyboard, but the screen continued to show nothing but snow, as it had done for the last forty five minutes. 'These relays have fooled the most sophisticated security systems in the world, and believe me, this was nothing like sophisticated.'

'Maybe that's the problem.' Max was hovering anxiously behind him, and Grant was trying not to let it wind him up.

'Try the glasses,' At least Jim was still calm, although Grant could hear a tinge of anxiety in his voice.

'Was just about to.' Grant typed in 'is everything ok Nicholas?' and waited. Nothing. He tried again, 'what's happening?' again, no response 'Getting nothing from Shannon either. Last thing was Alice complimenting her on the necklace. This is ridiculous.'

'Let's not panic. Grant, Max I suggest you get over to the Bathory Club as soon as possible. It may be that this is simply a coincidence and the mission is continuing successfully, but I want to be sure. I'll continue to monitor the feeds and if there is any change I'll let you know immediately.'

Max threw the car around the corner, the tyres shrieking on the wet cobbles, and pulled up a couple of streets away from the club. 'We could go in hot, but we don't know what's going on in there, and there could be trouble.'

'Yeah, I'm not eager to start panic in a club full of people. The last thing we need is a stampede.'

'It's a good job I know where the fire exits are.' Max deadpanned, but Grant could tell his heart wasn't in it.

'Let's go find out what's happened to Shannon and Nicholas.' The fire escape led to a dark yard at the rear of the club, where crates of empty bottles and overflowing rubbish bins had been left to fester. The rusting iron staircase led up to the first floor, and when Max and Grant put their weight on it, it creaked ominously . 'I'm surprised this place got a fire certificate.' They tried to keep their entry into the club as quiet as possible, but the music was so loud that Max reckoned a bomb could go off and no- one would notice. They found themselves in a deserted corridor with a wooden floor and panelled doors to either end.

'This is the route the staff use. Left is the office, right the member's area.'

'Ok, you take...what's that?' Grant sprinted to the office door and crouched down by a dark stain on the floor. When he rubbed it with his fingers, they came up covered in blood. 'I don't like this at all.'

'Move out of the way.' Ordered Max, aiming a kick at the door. It sprang open with a crash, but there was no-one inside. 'Grant!' laying in a discarded heap in the floor was Nicholas's jacket, and when Max picked it up he could see the collar and back was soaked with blood. His glasses lay nearby, one lens completely shattered.

Grant dashed over to the computer and began to frantically input data. Once he'd finished, he raised Jim on the two-way. 'You should have the cameras back now. Check to see if there is any sign of them, but I doubt it'

'Where they hell are they?' Max began to go through the paperwork on the desk, but could find nothing relevant. When he pulled open the desk drawer, he saw Shannon's necklace laying discarded on a pile of paperclips. 'I don't believe this.' He slipped it in his pocket. 'Murphy's Law.'

' We'll find them.' Grant promised, as much to himself than Max. He downloaded as much information as he could find that was useful, which was unfortunately very little, and stowed the disk carefully in his jacket pocket. 'Let's go.'

As they ran along the corridor, the door ahead of them opened, and a bouncer appeared. Over six and a half feet tall, with a shaven head and a build like Schwarzenegger, he seemed to fill all of the available space. 'Oy, what the hell do you think you're doing?' he advanced towards them.

'Get out of the way, buddy.' Snarled Max. 'I don't have time for this.'

'Oh yeah? You and whose army, pretty boy?' Max's punch to his solar plexus caught him by surprise and he folded like a bad poker player . As he crumpled, he followed it through with an uppercut to his jaw and he fell to the floor, nothing more than an obstacle to be stepped over.

'I did warn you.' He yanked the fire escape door open. 'Grant, let's get out of here. Not only can't we find Marcus, but we've lost Shannon and Nicholas as well.'

His head pounded along with the beating of his heart, the pain making him feel nauseous, and his arms felt as though they were on fire. For a moment he was confused, not able to think of anything apart from the pain. He knew though that he had to pull himself out of it, so taking a deep breath, Nicholas opened his eyes. The first thing he realised was that he was manacled to the wall, his wrists encased in iron shackles and secured to the stone with a thick chain threaded through a heavy iron ring. He could feel the stickiness of blood in his hair, and, when he looked down, the front of his shirt was stained red. This was not a good day at the office.

As he oriented himself he became aware of the sound of ragged breathing, which was not his own. Looking around, he saw a prone figure laying face down on the straw covered floor. He couldn't see his face, but from the hair colour, height and build, it could easily be Marcus. When he saw the bruised and welts on the younger man's back, he felt a surge of anger, and twisted against his chains, trying anything he could think of to get free. He didn't care how much it hurt, he knew that Marcus was in a bad way, and that he had to get him out of there.

'Don't bother. You're not going anywhere.' He'd been so intent on trying to get his hands free that he hadn't heard the door open, and when he turned he was faced with Erin standing in the doorway, a look of contempt on her face.

'You're making a big mistake.' He gave her Daniel's look of practised arrogance.

'Says the man chained to the wall.' Somewhere between the club and here, wherever here was, she'd lost the coat, and despite himself, Nicholas couldn't help but admire her washboard abs as she stalked towards him, like a wild animal, beautiful, deadly and definitely not to be trusted.

'Forgive the cliché, but where the hell am I?'

'In deep trouble. I only wish I had the time to stop and play with you, but something's come up.' She reached up and touched his face, and Nicholas saw that the middle finger of her right hand was covered with an ornately worked silver claw. He held her gaze and didn't flinch even when she ran the cold silver tip around his eyes. Erin seemed disappointed that her actions weren't having more affect, and she pouted. 'I can make this so much worse.'

'I'm shaking in my shoes.' He drawled, wondering how far he dared push her. The answer came more swiftly and more painfully than he'd anticipated. She ripped open his shirt, sending the buttons cascading to the floor, and stabbed the claw, its blade as sharp as a knife, into his chest, drawing it down his skin, following the line of his sternum. As the blood began to flow, she put her mouth to the cut, licking his blood until it ran down her chin. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and licked that too. The wound stung like hell, but Nicholas hoped, if she was busy tormenting him, she would keep her attention away from Marcus.

'Stay where you are. I'll be back.' She smirked. He wanted to come back with a smart comment, but a rush of nausea overwhelmed him, and he had to concentrate hard on not passing out

Grant was at the keyboard whilst Jim stood next to him, suggesting various avenues they could explore to try and track down where Shannon, Nicholas and hopefully Marcus, could be found. Max was pacing up and down agitatedly, he'd been doing it for so long he was in danger of wearing a hole in the carpet and in Grant's frayed nerves.

'According to records Katherine Russell owns the lease to the current Bathory Club, plus an apartment in Kensington. The apartment is in a luxury development that has a full concierge service and private security.'

'Then they're not likely to be there. What about Erin Russell and the other young woman?'

'Alice Rankin.' Max chipped in, still pacing.

'Right,' Grant scrolled through the information on the screen. 'Erin Russell is a reasonably wealthy young woman in her own right, with over £500,000 in various stocks, bonds and other investments.'

Max whistled. 'Where the hell did she get that kind of money?'

'From the estate of her late father David Christopher Russell.' The picture on the screen showed a tall dark haired man obviously taken at some kind of official function. 'He died ten years ago in a car accident. As he made a fortune in property developing we're talking a heck of a lot of money. Of course Katherine received the residuary estate which makes her financial position even more secure. There are no records though of Erin having any interest in any property whatsoever.'

'Where does she live?'

'She rents a mews cottage not far from her mother.'

'I don't suppose any of the father's property empire is still intact?'

'Already checked. It was all sold off when the estate was settled.' Jim cursed under his breath, such a rare occurrence that told Grant exactly how concerned he was.

'And Alice?'

'She's in a much lower league. Her financial resources are negligible, most of her salary pays her rent on a one bedroomed flat in Haringay and she owes money to two separate credit cards. She gets by, but only just.'

'My money is still on the Russell connection. Dig a little deeper, look for anything that seems out of the ordinary.'

'With this family, out of the ordinary is ordinary. I...wait a minute, I think I may have something. There's a record of an old medieval manor house, Moorcote Manor, having been bought two years ago by Serina Russell, Erin's paternal grandmother. Nothing odd you about that you might think, but the grandmother died in 1986.'

'Where is it?'

'Oxfordshire.'

'Then let's get moving.'

The bed felt so comfortable that Shannon really didn't want to get up, besides, it wasn't very often that she had any time off, and, if she wanted to spend at least some of it catching up on her sleep who could blame her? With a start she came fully awake, realising immediately that she was imagining things. Not that the room didn't look impressive, with its stone wall, four poster bed and wall hangings, but most hotels didn't normally drug their guests to get bookings. Thankfully, whatever drug Alice had used hadn't left her with any ill effects, in fact, she was surprised that she felt so rested. What she did remember though was that they had taken her necklace, so at the moment, she had no means of contacting the others. For the moment, finding both Nicholas and Marcus was her responsibility.

Clambering off the bed, she realised that she was in stockinged feet and decided to leave her shoes off. Being stealthy in five inch heels was an art she hadn't yet mastered. She padded over to the window and peered through the diamond shaped leaded panes into the darkness, wherever she was it was extremely old, but beyond that, she had no idea. Quickly scouting round the room, she found her purse laying on the floor, the compact intact. As she expected, the heavy wooden door was locked, and she silently thanked Grant again for his foresight in providing her with the picks. As she crouched by the door however, she became aware of footfalls outside, and drew back, scanning the room quickly for anything that could be used as a weapon, but there was nothing. She just hoped that surprise would give her the advantage that she needed.

She heard the key in the lock and braced herself. As the door opened, Alice came cautiously into the room. Before she had chance to register that Shannon was no longer on the bed, Shannon pushed her from behind and threw her onto the floor. Caught totally by surprise, Alice went down hard, and the syringe she was holding in her hand clattered across the floorboards. Shannon reached to grab it, but Alice regained her equilibrium quickly and grabbed at Shannon's legs, sending her clattering to the floor. Using Shannon's momentary disorientation Alice advanced on her, hands clawing at her face.

'What the hell...?' Shannon grabbed at her hands, forcing them away from her, but Alice kept on coming.

'Why couldn't you have left it alone? If you had come into the office it would have been fine.' She screeched. 'Now it's all going wrong! Katherine's here, and she'll make us stop.'

'Make you stop what?' Shannon succeeded in getting a grip on Alice's wrists, and forced her away.

'All our fun.' Alice smiled, a cold hard smile that chilled Shannon to the bone. She knocked Alice onto her back, trying to sit astride her to stop her from moving. Alice squirmed away and clambered awkwardly to her feet, but Shannon punched her hard to the jaw which floored her again. Shannon was dismayed to see that she had landed almost within reach of the syringe.

'The man you had with you. Where is he?' Alice lunged for the syringe and Shannon kicked her hard in the stomach. She doubled over.

'In the cellar.' Alice gasped. Whilst she was distracted, Shannon managed to get one hand on the syringe. Before the other woman could recover, she plunged the needle into her arm, and Alice's eyes began to glaze over.

'Sleep tight.' Shannon let her body fall to the floor, and slipped out into the corridor.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Moorcote Manor was hers, the place where she could be herself without anyone to judge her. Now it was turning into a nightmare. First, she'd had to allow Alice to join her after she'd seen her with one of her toys, a young accountant from Islington, but that had worked out better than she'd thought. In fact she and Alice had been kindred spirits and for a while it had been good to have someone to share things with. The new one looked as though he would be a worthy addition to her archive, and she was looking forward to the challenge. Then, Alice had insisted on bringing the woman from the club with her, which Erin felt was a risk too far. They should have just killed her and thrown her body in the river, it would have been far less complicated. She had ordered Alice to dispose of the problem.

Then, the situation had deteriorated beyond all imagining. A car had drawn up outside, one that had no right to be there, not in the one place she thought was hers alone. When her mother had walked into the manor Erin knew that her life was going to change forever. Katherine Russell had demanded to know exactly what was going on, wanting all the details, she had known things that Erin had no idea anyone was aware of apart from her, not even Alice. Then she knew that if she wanted her life to be her own she would have to make the one decision she had hoped never to have to make – whether her mother lived or died.

'Are we ever going to get there?' Growled Max, sounding like a recalcitrant five year old going on holiday. Grant, whose foot was already flat on the accelerator ground his teeth, but didn't reply. He loved his friends dearly, but tonight Max was really pushing it. Mind you, he could understand the other man's frustration, even in the early hours it had taken them ages to drive out of the capital, and since then they had done nothing but drive along country lanes praying they didn't meet anyone else coming the other way, and hoping that they would eventually be able to find Moorcote Manor, before it was too late.

'Before we left I tried to speak to Katherine Russell,' Jim admitted, 'but I couldn't raise her.'

'Do you think she's involved in this?' Grant asked, grimacing as he almost missed a sharp right hand bend.

'I sincerely hope not, but I can't be sure.' He admitted. 'She impressed me.'

'Can't be good realising that your daughter is a homicidal maniac.' Added Max helpfully.

'Let's just hope she isn't one as well. We could do with all the help we can get.'

The hallway was almost in total darkness, with only the barest sliver of light from the moon filtering through the narrow windows. Shannon crept along, conscious of every creak of the floorboards, almost too nervous to breathe. She could hear voices, but they were muffled be the thick stone walls, and she hoped that she could find Nicholas and, if she was lucky, Marcus, before anyone noticed she was missing. She found herself in a galleried landing, looking down on the Great Hall, opposite was a two story picture window, hung with velvet drapes that had seen better days. Although an enormous chandelier hung from the high beamed ceiling, the only light came from the few candles that were dotted around the floor. The room was dominated by an enormous fireplace, and the walls were covered in beautifully embroidered tapestries. It was the type of place that tourists would pay good money to visit on a Sunday afternoon.

She quickly ran down the stairs, hugging the shadows. The main front door, which had probably repelled William the Conqueror was securely locked and bolted. Looking round, she found a set of stone steps in the corner that led further down into the darkness, and, grabbing a candle, she continued downwards.

At the bottom of the stairs a stone corridor stretched into the darkness, and she felt her heart begin to thump in her chest. The pale candlelight hardly made an impact into the blackness, but she could see a little way along, another heavy door, which although it looked ancient was secured with a very modern, and very new looking padlock. Putting the candlestick on the floor, she hitched up her skirt to remove the compact from her stocking top, thankful that none of the guys were around to see her. She would never live it down. Time for lock picking 101.

Nicholas became aware of a metallic scratching noise outside the door, and redoubled his efforts to get free. The skin around his wrists had rubbed almost raw, but the manacles had not budged an inch. The wound to his chest had bled profusely, and he had begun to feel dizzy from loss of blood, but he was determined that when Erin returned, he would face her on his own terms, not hers.

Shannon felt the lock click home, and pushed the door open cautiously, peering into the room. From above she heard the sound of screaming and shouting, so, quickly weighing up the risks, she quickly dodged into the room, and shut the door behind her.

'Shannon!' Nicholas had never felt so glad to see someone in his life.

'Oh my God, Nicholas.' Shannon could not believe what she was seeing.

'It's not as bad as it looks.' He tried to kid her, but knew she wasn't convinced. 'Never mind me for a minute. Check that guy over there, I think it's Marcus and he doesn't sound good.' Torn between wanting to help her friend and the need to help Marcus, she quickly crouched down beside him, and checked his pulse, which was shallow, but definitely there. When she saw the state of his back, she felt her breath catch in her throat.

'Oh, Nicholas,' she gasped. 'This is awful.' Making sure that Marcus was as comfortable as she could make him, Shannon found a wooden box in the corner, and standing on it, attempted to use her lockpicks to free Nicholas. The locks were old, and the picks kept slipping, 'I need more lessons.' She tried to joke, but he could hear the frustration in her voice.

'Take it easy, you're nearly there.' He said softly, 'you're doing fine.' Finally the first manacle clicked open, and his hand came free. The chain holding him to the wall slipped through the bolt ring, and he slid to the floor. 'Thank you.' He breathed. Shannon sat beside him, her hands shaking, and took the remaining manacle off his other wrist. Silently, they grasped each other's hands, neither needing to say anything. 'Let's get Marcus out of here.' She nodded, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Gently, Shannon rolled Marcus onto his back, making sure that there was plenty of straw underneath him to cushion the movement. His face was bruised and swollen, but he managed to open his eyes and gaze at her, terrified. 'It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you. Are you Marcus?' He nodded. 'My name is Shannon and this is Nicholas, we're here to take you home.'

'Home?' He repeated, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. Shannon nodded.

'Your mum is really worried about you.' She helped him to sit up, holding him gently so as not to hurt him further.

Having regained a little of his equilibrium, Nicholas got to his feet, but had to use the wall to steady himself as the world seemed to tilt a little. 'Nicholas?'

'I'm all right.'

'You could have been killed. It's...' He held up a hand to stop her. 'What is it?' she hissed.

'I thought I heard something.' Cautiously he opened the door, only to be met with a flurry of smoke and an acrid smell that was all too familiar. 'Shannon, we have to get out of here, there's a fire!'

'Oh god.' She breathed, trying not to panic. Fire was something she hated, but she didn't want anyone to know how much it bothered her. 'Marcus, can you stand?' He nodded, but both Shannon and Nicholas realised he was just putting a brave face on it. They managed to get the younger man to his feet, but as they moved towards the door he was barely conscious.

Grant flung the car through a decaying set of gateposts, missing them by inches, and sped up the weed covered drive to Moorcote Manor, skidding to a halt in a hail of gravel. Ahead of them, the elaborate windows of the medieval building glowed with an ominous orange light, and, as they watched, a pane of glass shattered in the heat. Jim grabbed his two way as Grant screeched to a halt. 'I'll call the emergency services.'

Max was out of the car almost before it had stopped, Grant following in his wake.

Nicholas and Shannon had to half drag, half carry Marcus up the stairs. As they climbed, the smoke became thicker, and their eyes began to stream. Shannon knew Nicholas was finding it hard going, so she tried to take more of Marcus's weight, but without making it obvious. When they finally reached the Great Hall, they were all gasping for breath.

The Hall was ablaze, the heavy velvet curtains were being eaten up by fingers of flame hat raced along their entire length. The tapestries that hung on the walls were well alight, as was the staircase. The smoke was thick and acrid, and a distinct smell of petrol hung in the air. It was hard to make out anything in the smoky darkness, but, on the burning staircase a figure moved, and in a brief flash of moonlight Nicholas made out the figure of Erin Russell, standing in a sea of flames. She didn't move, just stood there, staring.

'What is she doing?' Shannon coughed, 'She'll burn to death if she doesn't get out of there now.'

'Can you manage Marcus alone?' Nicholas asked urgently.

'What? No, Nicholas, you can't...' Suddenly there was the sound of splintering wood as the door crashed back on its hinges, and Max stood there, silhouetted in the firelight. 'Over here!'

Max took a deep breath and charged into the smoke filled room, taking in at a glance what was happening. Grant followed him inside. 'Get Shannon and Marcus out of here!'

Nicholas ran towards the stairs, his eyes streaming from the smoke. When Erin saw him, she simply smiled, which incensed him further. There was a rushing noise and the tapestry behind her burst into flame, and she disappeared from his view.

'Nicholas!' Shannon yelled. Grant took Marcus's other arm, and the three of them stumbled towards the door. Seeing his friend about to embark on a suicide mission Max grabbed Nicholas forcibly holding him back.

'No mate let it go. Let her go.'

'She's killed people Max, she can't get away with it.' Nicholas struggled, but Max held him fast.

'She won't. Come on.' Suddenly, the fight went out of him and Nicholas allowed himself to be dragged towards the door. Behind him, there came the sound of splintering wood. As Erin ran up the stairs, they fell in behind her, a burning mass of seething flame.

Epilogue

'Checkmate.' Nicholas smiled, knocking over Grant's queen. The other man glared at him, then smiled.

'I can't even beat you when you're injured.' Laughing along, Nicholas winced, putting his hand to his chest. 'Does it hurt?'

'Only when I laugh.' In fact, with twelve stitches in his chest and another two in his head wound it was bloody sore most of the time, but he was never going admit it. Mind you, he guessed that his friends knew anyway. The door to the apartment opened and Shannon and Jim walked in. 'How's Marcus?'

'Doing well.' Shannon smiled , sitting on the sofa next to Nicholas 'He should make a full recovery.'

'His mother is staying with him at the hospital. And the Secretary sends his good wishes for a job well done.' Jim gave an ironic smile. 'We thought this would be an easy mission, maybe even one that was beneath us.'

'We were wrong.' Nicholas said softly. Shannon squeezed his arm.

'At least it's over.'

'Maybe not.' Max walked in, a sombre look on his face. 'I've been talking to the Fire Officer. They have found two sets of remains in the ruins of Moorcote Manor, one is definitely that of Alice Rankin.' He saw Shannon flinch.

'It wasn't your fault, Shannon.' Jim interjected. 'She gave you no choice. Continue Max.'

'The other seems to be that of a woman in her sixties. All signs seem to indicate that she was dead before the fire started.'

'Erin killed her mother, and then started the fire?'

'It seems that way. They also have forensic teams searching the grounds, and have found what appear to be shallow graves near to the hall. I think they are going to be busy for quite a while.'

'And Erin?' Nicholas asked quietly.

'Her body hasn't been found. Yet.' The Australian added.

'She's still out there.' Stated Nicholas, trying to keep his voice matter of fact. 'All those deaths and she's going to walk away from it.'

'They'll find her, Nicholas.'

'If they don't, I will.' he promised. 'Now, let's go home.'

Several Months Later...

A new country, a new city. A new name. Six months it had taken her to recover from that night in Oxfordshire, six months of hell. Now though she was ready to play again. Tonight, a new club - the Blood Queen - would open for the first time, and the game would begin again.

The End.


End file.
